


After the End

by Anarkanex



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV), mark edward fischbach - Fandom, mark fischbach - Fandom, markiplier - Fandom, zombies - Fandom
Genre: AU, Apocalypse, Death, F/M, Hate to Love, LMAO, Love/Hate, Markiplier - Freeform, Survival, Survivor Guilt, Walkers (Walking Dead), Zombie, Zombie Apocalypse, im already sorry, the walking dead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 23:52:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12420774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anarkanex/pseuds/Anarkanex
Summary: An AU where Mark and Reader are thrown headfirst into the world of The Walking Dead, where rules don't apply and things could go wrong at any moment. Mark and Reader are of different groups, but are forced together through dire circumstances, and don't seem to see eye-to-eye on anything. But if there's anything that can bring two seemingly different people together, it's the ever-looming threat of death, and Mark and Reader find that they won't make it out alive unless they learn to depend on one another.





	After the End

"(Y/N)! Let's go!" The deep voice echoed off of the brick walls around you - a harsh whisper in the dead, eerie silence. You knew that he was starting to get impatient with you, but you only needed a few more seconds to grab those last few things you'd had your eyes on. Your fingers stretched - a hungry grasp - and wrapped firmly around the bottles on the top shelf, finding them a new home in the biggest pocket of your backpack.

 

"(Y/N)!" With a satisfied huff, you slung your pack across your shoulders and tightened your grip on your knife, comforted by the familiar way your fingers wrapped around the hilt. He'd given you this knife; a couple of months ago, the two of you had been in a tight situation in Fletcher - a small town just about sixty miles from here. Being a small town, you'd figured it would be relatively safe, but you'd been terribly misguided. A group of walkers had pinned the two of you in a small bar while you'd been collecting supplies, and it was truly a miracle you'd made it out alive. He'd covered your back the entire time, as you'd been equipped with a faulty gun that had quickly run short of ammo, and it proved to be such a strain that you'd spent a few extra days recovering in a hideout a few blocks away. Of course, once he was good and ready to keep moving, he'd insisted that you find a reliable melee weapon. He'd found this knife - it was more of a dagger, with an ebony hilt and a long, curved blade - in a lockbox stashed under the bed of an abandoned apartment. It was effective and lightweight, and most importantly: quiet.

 

"I'm here, I'm here," You breathed as you came around the corner, eyes peeled for the man so insistent on urgency, "Eli?"

 

"Over here. Hurry up." He'd gone in a side door, propped open by a half-decayed body that appeared to be partially burnt, into a general store of sorts - it reminded you (roughly) of a Macy's on Black Friday. He was behind the counter, and when his eyes fell on you, he motioned for you to creep closer and placed a finger to his lips. "Quiet," He murmured, pointing to the front entrance. It was blocked - thankfully - by one of those metal grates used to lockup when the mall closed. "We have company."

 

You nodded, unsure of whether he meant walkers or humans. Either was bad, but humans were relatively worse. Humans were smart, and possessed a predatorial sense of awareness that the dead ones lacked. Walkers meant fighting or fleeing; humans meant hunting or being hunted. Each encounter only proved to you how fleeting the sense of empathy and community was in your broken society.

 

Sure enough, as to quell your curiosity, a voice broke the heavy silence that had settled on the mall plaza. Eli's grip on your arm tightened. "Any sign of the dead ones?" There was a muffled response from down the hallway, likely in another store.

 

You sighed bitterly to yourself. The two of you had chosen to scout this old mall because it was smaller in size and had significantly less stores than any big city mall would provide. You'd encountered houses both full of loot and completely destroyed, and overall, the small town was in relatively good shape. Because of this, you'd assumed it would be safer than any other option, and hadn't predicted that you'd run into any other humans. It had been days since you'd arrived in Wrightwood, and thus far it had seemed you were the only ones. Living, anyway.

 

"Nothing!" Another voice interrupted your thoughts. It was closer than the last. You held your breath, sinking far enough behind the counter that your head was shielded by a row of cabinets. You felt Eli's grip tighten further.

 

"Not a word," He whispered harshly, blue eyes somehow stormier than before. "I'm gonna draw them away."

 

"Eli, no-"

 

"Not. A. Word." He pushed the words through his teeth and shot you a silencing glare, already creeping around the counter. His gun was secured between his anxious fingers; his index finger rested, ready, on the trigger. Within a second, he'd scurried down one of the rows towards the front of the store and out of your sight.

 

You didn't like this at all. The only other times you'd run into groups of people since taking up with Eli had ended so poorly, you'd been surprised you'd escaped with your head. In one particular scenario much like this one, they'd taken an entire bag of supplies and three guns from you, and had Eli not threated one of them by the skin of their throat, you were sure they'd have taken you, as well. Whether or not these men were hostiles or not was none of your concern - they were armed, and from the sound of it, they outnumbered you and Eli by at least one.

 

There were gunshots. "Movement! There's movement!"

 

You felt your heart jump to your throat and clamped your teeth tightly together, smothering whatever sound had tried to climb out. Nerves were pooling hotly in your stomach.

 

"Stop shooting, you fucking idiot! You're wasting ammo!" That voice was close, possibly directly out front of the store. You didn't dare peer above the counter in case he was at the metal grate. "It's probably a walker. Man up and stab the damn thing - bullets are a last resort, you know that."

 

"I don't think it’s a walker." It was a younger voice that called back. He didn't speak as gruffly as the others, but his voice was just as deep, if not deeper. It was smooth, seemingly untouched by the carnage around him. He was quieter the next time he spoke. "It moved too fast. It was too balanced."

 

"Some of them are faster, you know that." The gruffer voice was closer now. You hadn't heard metal grinding, so you figured he'd come in the side door, and with a hard swallow you leaned out just far enough to make him out through the glass display. As soon as your eyes landed on him, you shifted back, processing what you'd seen.

 

He was likely the leader of the group, as he was the most outspoken and had a tough, commanding demeanor about him. He was tall in stature, a little more built than most men, and armed with one of the most robust guns you'd ever seen in person. He wore a gray hoodie so thick you wondered if teeth could penetrate the fabric and standard issue army pants and combat boots. You noted that loot with caution - likely, he'd gotten them from some army base or military setup, and the battle for supplies at locations such as those was a tough one. He must be experienced, then, and lead his team well.

 

"Circle around." For someone experienced, though, he was being rather loud, and didn't seem to harbor inhibitions about his team yelling across the plaza.

 

"Hey! Over there!" The daunting sound of footsteps followed the words, retreating across the plaza, likely into another section. You relaxed a little - whatever it was (possibly Eli) was leading the group away from you.

 

"Should we-?"

 

"I think he's got it, but I'll go follow up. You keep checking the shops, got it?" The leader's voice was fleeting, as well - he had stepped out of the store. "Call if you find anything good."

 

"Got it." More footsteps. You peered through the display case again. The bigger guy was out of sight and the heavy sounds of his footfalls were growing quieter. Now was your chance.

 

You quietly slipped out from behind the counter and ducked behind a row of shelves in the nearest aisle, eyes set on the side door you'd come in through. If you could bee-line for it and get out there, you could gun it for the next store, and hopefully slip past the last guy unnoticed. He was on his own out there now, and if you had to, you could probably take him down. Your aim was pretty spot on these days, and the small, re-crafted crossbow strapped reassuringly against your spine would serve as a pretty ideal defense: quiet, fast, and easy to line up with a big target.

 

You successfully made your way into the little corridor and leaned as far out as you dared, trying to catch a glimpse of him. You couldn't see his face from here, but his body was well within view, and you could see him in enough detail to get a basic idea of his build. He was rather broad, with wide, muscular shoulders and toned biceps. He wasn't very tall - about the average height of any twenty-something year old you'd seen. His hair was dark, almost black, and his skin was a warm-toned tan. What little you could see of his head exposed a strong jawline covered in surprisingly well-tamed, dark hair.

 

From your position, it looked like he was carrying an automatic on a strap that crossed his left shoulder. It was a good gun, but it blew through ammo quickly and gave more room for error, to make no mention of how loud it was.

 

Satisfied with your observations, you crept forward and ducked into the next open door, finding yourself in another general store of sorts. Immediately in front of you lay a shelf with a few cans and some small snack boxes - non-perishables - which you grabbed, shoving into the partially-zipped pocket of your backpack. You also grabbed some packages from the end of the aisle: things like chapstick, tweezers, and some to-go packets of Tylenol. They weren't much, but Eli knew how to ration.

 

Luckily for you, he seemed to be distracted by something in the store opposite the face of this one, and that alone provided a large enough window for you to move, unnoticed, through the aisles. There was less to gather in this room than the last one, so as you reached the last aisle, you were already looking for an exit. There was another side door, though this one was closed, but you figured it might be worth the risk.

 

Much to your despair, the door protested as you pushed it - the sound of rusted metal brushing against the decrepit ground. "Hey!" Sure enough, he'd heard it, and the thundering footsteps in your direction were a jarring cue to make your escape.

 

You bolted, gripping the straps of your backpack firmly in your gloved hands as you dodged aisle and rack, desperate to flee his calls and find a place to wait out his interest. He was chasing you, that much you knew, but you doubted he'd be able to keep up. He was carrying a significant amount of weight on his back, far more than you, and he was much bigger. If not good for strength, being lithe meant being stealthy, and running was usually the better option - that, at least, should prove to be a disadvantage on his part.

 

"Come back!" He had a gained a little distance, mainly because instead of running through aisles and side doors, as you had, he'd just run across the plaza by the store fronts. He met you by the exit, so you took a sharp right, desperately searching for a way out. All you could see from here was a supply closet and a risky path back into the hallway you'd come from. For now, the closet would have to do.

 

Either way, you knew he'd see you, so you made the quick decision to fake him out. You started down the aisle as if you were going to make a break for the hallway and then swiftly dodged to the left behind a clothing rack. He'd taken the bait and crept around the right, presenting you with an opportunity to quietly loop around and crawl behind the check-out counter. There was a hallway obscured by a curtain just behind the counter, which you slipped through, and the supply closet (of which's location you'd assumed, albeit naively) was the first door on the left. You pried it open as quietly as possible, managing to slip through just as the curtain you'd come through began to ripple, and the barrel of a gun slipped through - he hadn't taken the bait after all.

 

The door shut silently, leaving you in a confined, dimly lit room with evidence of what used to be stocked shelves, now just broken boxes and discarded, damaged items. You made your way to the corner, around an S-shaped arrangement of stocking shelves, finding a tight little spot behind a stack of empty boxes. They were suspiciously perfect for your height - had someone used them as cover before?

 

You'd barely slipped into your spot when the door open, interrupting the fragile silence you'd been betting on. You bit your tongue, breath lodged in your throat out of fear it might give you away. There were footsteps, crunching the stubborn cardboard that littered the ground. Your fingers gripped readily at your gun, squeezing tight in case the opportunity presented itself; your other hand was coiled around your knife, still. This could go one of two ways: either he'd keep coming and find you, or he'd lose interest and give up. You were prepared to fire off a shot and possibly give away your location if it meant earning yourself another few minutes.

 

It didn't seem like the latter option was going to happen. "I know you're in here." There was that buttery voice again, oddly soft in what should be a harsh situation.

 

Convincing, with that gun in your hands. If not for the sake of being silent, you'd have scoffed aloud. You didn't believe him for a second, and you weren't about to give yourself up on the chance that he might have some shred of decency. Present day, it seemed, that was highly unlikely, and you wouldn't be shocked if he tried to kill you for the satisfaction of knowing you were dead.

 

"Look," He murmured, "There's only one way out of here, and I'm blocking it, so if you would just-"

 

"What do you want?" Your tongue betrayed you, and the fearful words came tumbling from your throat, propelled by the uneasy knot in your stomach. You cursed yourself silently and readied your gun. Shielded from view, you could hear him shutting the door - the soft 'click' it made as it met the frame sent your fear spiraling again.

 

"I don't want anything." He was speaking softly now, as if he were trying to persuade a cornered animal not to be afraid. It was with bitter resolution that you realized you were that animal.

 

"Then why are you following me?" Your voice was tight, curt. However loud your heart was pounding in your ears, you were not about to reveal that you were afraid. You forced yourself to your feet and looked at him, half expecting to see some half-brained dimwit. What you saw instead was nothing of the sort; in fact, he was kind of handsome, but you weren't about to let yourself focus on something so trivial. His eyes were slanted and dark but not uncaring, and something about the soft way his smile settled on his cheeks made you feel a little better. Not by much.

 

"I have orders." He met your gaze as he said it, plain and simple. His eyes wandered down to your hands, where you gripped your weapons, aimed threateningly in his direction. "You don't need those."

 

"Really?" You asked bitterly, grip on your knife tightening. "I suppose I'm just supposed to take your word for it?"

 

His fingers - resting lazily on his gun - twitched, and with a hesitant, almost painful expression written across his features, he raised it a little. "Look, I don't want to shoot you. Just lower the knife, please."

 

You thought it over for a second and lowered it the slightest bit, eyes glued to his hands. A smug smile ghosted across your lips. "You're gonna have a hard time shooting me with the safety on."

 

He looked down at his gun in shocked confusion and, while he was distracted, you seized the opportunity. In one swift, sure motion, you brought the butt of your gun to his temple with as much force as you could register - it was enough to send him reeling, if only for a moment. A moment was all you needed.

 

He clutched at his head and looked at you in disbelief, but you didn't stick around long enough to let him react. You pried open the door and slipped into the hallway, through the curtain and out into the store. Small whispers of protest echoed after you.

 

Your escape was cut short as you came through the curtains, as a situation had developed on the plaza that you'd been previously unaware of. Eli, apparently, had created a diversion for himself by releasing some of the walkers you'd trapped earlier, and some of the men from the group you were currently trying to get away from were pinned down, trying to shoot their way out.

 

You couldn't very well make a break for it, as either one of the dead ones or the live ones would see you, and you couldn’t stay here in case the younger one recovered and came after you. Sighing, you found a small spot he wouldn't be able to see you between two racks and did your best to clear your head. Panicking wouldn't get you anywhere.

 

Then, as if a godsend, a familiar voice hissed at you. "(Y/N)." Eli was perched between the door and the wall around the back, where a little corridor you hadn't seen before was located. "This way, quietly."

 

You let out the breath you'd been holding and followed him, eyes widening at the sight of daylight pouring into the hallway. It was a trash room with a connecting door, probably leading to some back alley behind the mall where the dumpsters were located. How he'd found it without you spotting him was beyond you, but you weren't about to complain.

 

He'd propped the door open to avoid making noise, and the second you were both out, he quietly let it shut and took off down the alley. Now that you were out, he seemed to be a little less on edge, and actually offered you a smile.

 

"You did good in there, kiddo." He gave you a soft pat on the shoulder and sped up a little, only stopping when you reached the end of the alley. Just beyond it was a smaller section of the parking lot, and it was a stroke of pure fortune that there seemed to be no inhabitants. The men had cars, you noted, but they were parked in a ring on the far end of the parking lot. From here, you could head south and avoid them entirely, ducking into the woods. They wouldn't be able to find you then.

 

You weren't a kid by any means, but Eli had taken to calling you 'kiddo' in the last few months. He was about fifteen years your senior, in his late thirties, and often said how much you reminded him of his younger sister. She'd been a few years short of you when she died, and though he didn't talk much about it, you knew enough. She was sixteen, and a group of men much like this one had killed her trying to run off with her. Eli had been more stubborn and trigger-happy then, and he'd refused to give in to their demands. What he hadn't been expecting was that they weren't bluffing. It had been a quick but brutal death, and since, he'd sooner run from a fight than face it.

 

"What's our plan?" You asked, following as closely in his footsteps as you could. The two of you traveled this way; you left as little evidence of your presence as possible, and if you could help it, you didn't really stick around in locations very long. You weren't like other groups - you didn't need a home base. It wasn't safe.

 

In your travels, you'd seen a lot of places, and though they were desolate and usually deteriorating, the views were incredible. The apocalypse was nothing to joke about, but something about the way nature reclaimed cities after humans abandoned them was oddly beautiful to you. One of your favorite locations to stumble on were old libraries - Eli would let you sit and read for a bit, and you found that you felt more educated now-a-days than you ever had before. That was exactly how you'd learned the wolf thing; wolves, when traveling in packs, stepped in each other's exact footsteps and traveled via streams and rivers if they could help it. To anyone - or anything - tracking them, it appeared to be one wolf, or none at all. It seemed as though groups were less likely to follow a loner than another group.

 

"We're going up over this ridge," He said as you broke the tree-line, finally standing up straight, "And we'll make camp in the next town. I don't want to risk them following us."

 

You scoffed, jokingly murmuring, "As if they could."

 

His tone was less amusing. "Underestimating people is what gets you killed, kid." He sighed and looked over his shoulder, still on high alert. "Alright, pick up the pace. I want to find a place to squat before nightfall."

 

You swallowed the worried lump in your throat and shifted your backpack on your shoulders, trudging quickly after your companion. You didn't imagine those men would be capable of tracking the two of you with how careful you were, but as he said, you wouldn't underestimate them. If there was one thing you'd learned the hard way, it was that anyone, if desperate enough, was capable of anything, and something about the hesitant but hopeful glint in that guy's eyes had stirred something fearful inside of you.

 

They were after something.


End file.
